a lunar cycle
by Little Miss Escapist
Summary: ... in which boobs are afire and Imperial Princes get laid.  A collection of drabbles written for SasuSaku month over at livejournal.
1. Love Letters

**Prompt: **"You are the last person I want, as you so quaintly put it, to _save me_. I can save myself now - I don't need you anymore."

_Based on the ninja who stalks Sakura to confess his love and give her a love letter in the manga. I figured that, with everyone she's saving, he probably wouldn't be the only ninja sending her love letters and what not. After all, war's a time for emotions to run _high. _... which is probably what her admirers were when they wrote the particular letters quoted in this fic. ;) Enjoy. :D_

* * *

><p>"... Holy shit, Forehead, are you sure those aren't medical records?"<p>

Sakura sighed, hefting the cardboard box into Ino's eager arms. "I wish."

The blonde, however, in lieu of listening was merrily filtering through the passionate poetry and heartfelt promises. "Oh my god," Ino began, holding up a particularly long missive. "Is this one seriously all about your boo-"

"SAKURA-CHAN!"

Green eyes flicked towards the entrance of her tent. There Naruto stood, huffing with the effort of the weight on his shoulder. Sasuke. Out cold. "I... I kinda sorta stole a few pills from the pharmacy tent. I SWEAR I THOUGHT THEY WERE HANGOVER PILLS. Teme was just being _such_ a douche, and I thought hey, might as well -"

"That's all right, Naruto," Sakura said, so breezily it might have been a sigh. "I've got it. Set him down on the cot."

A week-long festival, rife with food and lots and lots of drink, was being held in honor of the Ninja World's newfound peace. This wouldn't be the first time the smells of alcohol and idiocy pervaded her tent this morning.

Awkwardly, Naruto shuffled towards the cot and eased Sasuke onto it. Without bothering to examine her patient, Sakura sauntered out of the tent. "I'll be right back," she called out as she exited.

Meanwhile, Ino hadn't moved an inch. "Oh my god, get this. _'Beloved: My hands ache without the fullness of your_-'"

"Ne," Naruto interrupted, his hands also having gone exploring in the depths of the box. "What are these?" He picked up one of the sheets, eyes widening as they scanned the contents.

Undaunted, Ino continued. "_'Get down and dirty with me, shawty. So broken without you, need your healing fingers on my co-_'"

"HOLY SHIT, THESE WEREN'T MEDICAL RECORDS?"

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><p>In the pharmacy tent, Sakura browsed the shelves for the antidote. Thankfully, her expertise was such that she hadn't needed to take a closer look at the Uchiha to determine which pill Naruto had pilfered. Sakura wasn't quite sure she could manage a closer look at her childhood love.<p>

This had been her first glimpse of him since the end of the war. Naturally, she'd encountered him on the battlefield at some point, and again she'd attended to him amidst the mass of broken bodies she was to mend. However - _so much for Team 7_, she thought, her lips a wry curve - it had been Naruto who had played saviour.

She sighed again as her hands finally wrapped around the medication Sasuke needed. She really should have expected it. She knew she was no pushover by any means - the looks of awe that followed her everywhere she went proved she'd established herself in the ninja world. (_That_, or her ass really did look great in her skirt.) But there was something Naruto and Sasuke shared that she'd never be a part of. Something etched in strength and brotherhood.

Really, it was all too naive of her to expect Sasuke to swoop down and attempt to save her. But did she fantasize. She'd even had a well-rehearsed reply: "You are the last person I want, as you so quaintly put it, to save me. I can save myself now - I don't need you anymore." Of course, she'd be changing her tune once his hands not-so-quaintly lingered under her -

Two high-pitched screams interrupted her cogitation.

* * *

><p>"What. The. Fuck."<p>

Ino and Naruto, frozen, fingers in the air and eyes wide and wary, a pile of ashes in between them -

Yeah, definitely what she'd been expecting to see when she'd rushed back into the tent.

"You have five seconds."

A flurry of shaking blonde heads and emphatic blue eyes began.

"The letters -"

"- the box -"

"- your boobs -"

"- ON FIRE!"

None of the three, of course, noticed the patient roll over, a happy grunt escaping his lips.


	2. Stockholm Syndrome

**Theme: **non-massacre AU

**Prompt: **Stockholm Syndrome

His cousins were beating the door down. Sighing, Mikoto left Sasuke to his breakfast.

It wasn't fair, Sasuke decided, spearing a sausage. Not fair at all.

In the years succeeding the death of the Sandaime and the return of that blonde woman, Sakura finally reached the status her two teammates had had from the beginning. Difficult not to: the girl was seen _everywhere_.

("Boys, boys!" Mikoto's voice floated over. "Calm down!")

The cycle was simple: during the mission briefing, you'd get a glimpse of the Hokage's apprentice doing paper work. During mission, you'd be wondering who the hot little number was. After mission, in the hospital, said hot little number would be saving your bloody ass.

Of course Sasuke would have it memorized. Enough Leaf shinobi had endlessly repeated their own 'Sakura Experiences' to one another. By the time the news had reached Sasuke and Naruto, seeing Sakura was standard operating procedure.

("No can do." Mikoto's refusal was firm. "And no, Sasuke is _not_ coming out to tell you either.")

Sasuke remembered a time Sakura held him hostage with adoration. She outgrew it.

He never did.

The sliding of the doors alerted Sasuke to Mikoto's return. His mother floated to him, head shaking. "As if our first hundred refusals weren't enough to convince them they wouldn't be getting Sakura-chan's number from us."

Sasuke grunted.

Mikoto laughed. "I know, I know. She caught you first."


	3. You, The Sun

**Prompt: **an artwork of Sasuke smexing up Sakura in a kimono

He wants her.

It is as inevitable as the sun's daily rebirth in the East. Every man Sasuke knows has wanted her at some point - who is to blame him for being no different? She is everywhere, utterly impossible to miss in her signature red kimonos. She flits around court like a beautiful brocade butterfly: stunning, captivating, and hauntingly out of reach.

He hauls open another door. The room behind it is empty. Furiously, he goes on to attempt the next one.

He recalls perfectly how she has captivated him today. She had eyed him across the room with eyes of emerald fire, her shimmering gold fan drifting in and out of vision, granting him only glimpses of her glistening lips.

He had gone hard in seconds.

She must've known. Her laugh was telling, _daring_, as she'd left the room in a whirl of crimson fabric.

The same fabric he now eyes at the end of the corridor. It disappears quickly, but not so quickly that he doubts ever having seen it. This is her, finally. He hurries, no longer bothering with discretion. Reaching the room, he hastily slides the door shut. He turns.

She is glorious in this light. The sun lights up her kimono and emphasizes the porcelain of her skin. She is a goddess rising out of a rose, binding him to her with a flick of her hair. There is no hesitation as he fumblingly rids himself of his robe. He hears her laugh quietly at his eagerness, but she makes no move to aid him.

All his life, he has been the flame. With her, he is the moth.

Finally unconstrained, he marches towards her. She eyes his manhood appreciatively, the tip of her tongue escaping to moisten her lips.

"Sakura."

Her eyes flick up to his face, just in time for his mouth to fall atop hers.

They are a catastrophe. Together, they touch and taste all that they can of each other, as if each were an exotic delicacy only to be sampled once. Their moans and whimpers punctuate the lazy silence of the room as they devour each other: body, mind, and soul.

She will never belong to him, Sasuke knows, this beautiful daughter of a wealthy merchant. Imperial Prince though he may be, he will never be allowed to claim what his heart truly desires.

Instead, he settles for stolen touches and wicked kisses. He burns the softness of her thighs into memory, gouges the outline of her breasts into his hands, and times his heartbeat to the cadence of her sighs.

In the West, the sun sets brilliantly.


End file.
